


Top and Tail

by DaisyFairy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Morse Code, Nightmares, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 16:49:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11650719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFairy/pseuds/DaisyFairy
Summary: Sherlock has not slept for five days so in an effort to help John takes his friend into his bed. They are top and tailing because it's all innocent, just friends sharing a bed. Right?





	Top and Tail

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after series 4, but it is only briefly mentioned so could really be any time. 
> 
> As for Rosie, I don't know where she is, let's pretend she's sleeping over with John's friends who did such a good job looking after her for most of series 4.

“Come on then you, into bed.” John manhandled Sherlock into his bed, placing his spare pillow at the foot of the bed so that they could top and tail.

“Think this will help?” John asked as he clambered into the other side of the bed.

“Yes, thank you.” Sherlock mumbled into the duvet sleepily.

“Ok. Well, good night you git.” John leaned over and switched off the bedside lamp leaving the room in near darkness, only the glow from the streetlights outside filtered through the curtains.

“Your room is much...this is good. Thank you.” Sherlock mumbled, then fell silent as sleep overcame him.

John spent a few minutes considering how, of all the times he had imagined getting Sherlock into his bed, this particular scenario had never crossed his mind. Somehow dragging an almost zombified man, who had been unable to sleep for five nights and eventually admitted it was because he was afraid to sleep alone, up the stairs had never occurred to him. Soon though, John too drifted to sleep, lulled by the sound of his best friends soft breathing.

\--~~~--

The morning arrived and John woke slowly. A strange weight around his legs made him frown, but when he looked down the bed and saw the reason he giggled at the sight. Sherlock had his arms wrapped firmly around John's calves, holding his legs tightly to his chest and had his cheek rested on the soles of John's feet, it was hard to see from John's position but he was sure there was a small smile on the detective's lips. He was fast asleep and looked so peaceful and happy that John took a moment to bask in seeing it.

John gradually realised that as nice as this was, his body was protesting at a lack of liquid, whilst simultaneously complaining about too much liquid elsewhere. He rolled his eyes and wished the human body had some system to sort itself out in this situation without forcing the occupants of said body to get out of bed and deal with it. Eventually giving in he tried to extricate his legs slowly from Sherlock, but the man just snuggled in further, holding onto John tighter.

John smiled then reached down to rub Sherlock's hip and whispered “Sherlock? Let go please, I need to get up.” It took a few tries before Sherlock opened his eyes blearily, then a second before he realised what he was doing and let go, pulling away from John so far he nearly fell out of the bed.

“Sorry.” Sherlock said to the ceiling, and John could see a slight blush appear on his cheeks.

Ignoring the apology John said “I'm getting tea, want some?”

Sherlock still did not quite meet his eyes when he replied “Yes, please.”

“Back in a minute then.” John said as he left the bed and tried very hard not to look back at the enticing view of Sherlock, sleepily rumpled, lying in his bed waiting for him. 

John hurried to make use of the bathroom and then stood shivering slightly in the kitchen while he waited for the kettle to boil. He heard the bathroom door close and half expected Sherlock to appear in the kitchen for his tea. However as he was adding the milk he heard footsteps back up to his room and felt inexplicably happy that he would get to share his bed for a little longer with Sherlock.

Back in his room John handed Sherlock a steaming mug then sat back against his headboard with his own tea. He could see that Sherlock was uncomfortable, having no headboard at his end of the bed meant he had to just sit upright with no support.

“Come up here, it'll be much easier.”

A smile, a brief scramble across the bed and a few drops of tea on the duvet later saw the two men sitting shoulder to shoulder against the head of the bed. They drank in silence until John's curiosity overcame him.

“Why are you having so much trouble sleeping? Maybe we can do something.”

Sherlock didn't reply for several seconds, then said quietly, “There are ghosts, and sometimes, they wait for me on the edge of sleep. On my own, downstairs, I couldn’t face them, but with you they seem to fade into the background.”

“Me?”

Sherlock nodded, “You seem to chase the monsters away.”

John frowned “What monsters are they?”

Sherlock took a deep breath, then his voice trembled as he said “It's not just since Sherrinford, but that has made it worse. It's always been this way. You know I've never slept well. I don’t, I don’t want to talk about it now.”

John just acted on instinct, his right hand found Sherlock's left between them on the bed and he squeezed tight, then held on.

“Sorry, no, of course you don’t have to talk about it. But. You've been alone every night down there, you should have told me you needed me.”

Sherlock gave a single shoulder shrug. “It's not so bad if I keep busy, I've been sorting my notes, carried out some experiments, played some violin, it wasn't so bad.”

“Except for where you almost killed with yourself with sleep deprivation.”

“It fades eventually, a few nights, a week, maybe two, and then I can sleep again. The thoughts go away on their own, or something distracts me from them enough.”

“Two weeks?! You can't have gone without sleep for two weeks.”

Sherlock reluctantly admitted, “Um. I may have used some....pharmacological help that time so that I could just pass out and get some rest.”

John clamped his eyes and jaw shut so that he wouldn’t shout, or cry, crying was definitely on the table. A few deep breaths and he was calm enough to talk again. He gave Sherlock's hand another squeeze, “Just come to me, ok. Straight away next time, you don’t have to suffer down there on your own.”

Sherlock nodded with his lips slightly upturned at the corners, “Thank you.”

“We'll talk later about a long term solution, you shouldn't have to live like this. Maybe therapy could help, or there are some _proper_ pharmacological measures that might be appropriate.”

They sat in silence for several minutes drinking their tea, and still didn't pull their hands apart when the tea was finished and the mugs set aside on the bedside units. John was trying to stop himself doing something stupidly sentimental when he noticed a rhythmic squeezing to his hand. He began to pay attention (short, short, short, short, then long, short), ‘H’, ‘N’, ‘J’, ‘O’ it was his name, over and over ‘ _JOHN_ ’. He answered in kind by squeezing (short, short, long, long, short, short), a question mark.

It took a long time, but John patiently waited for Sherlock to reply. The man in his bed wouldn't meet his eye and to all outward signs was fascinated by the pattern of the wallpaper. Eventually the message was finished, ‘ _Could I just sleep with you all the time?_ ’

John couldn't bear to take the time to reply in Morse so said aloud, “Yeah, if that’s what you need.”

Sherlock still wouldn't face him, in fact his shoulders seemed to have become more tense, and he tried to pull his hand away, but John held on tight. John frowned at his back, then his eyes widened in hopeful realisation. Once Sherlock stopped trying to escape John sent him a message in Morse ‘ _Or if it is what you want_ '

Sherlock turned to him, biting his lip, and nodded, just once and slightly nervously. John twisted around to bring his left hand up and cup Sherlock's cheek. They are so close, if he...just. Almost without thinking he leaned forward, closed the gap, and his lips were on Sherlock's, not moving, just, resting there.

Slowly John slid his fingers around from Sherlock's cheek to the back of his head. His fingers entangled in those curls that from this close he could see were not black but dark brown, with hints of red that were shining in the dim light. He took a deep breath then pressed closer, moving his lips purposely to show Sherlock the things he has been hiding for so long. 

It took Sherlock a few seconds to respond but then he was kissing back desperately, he twisted around to properly face John and his free arm came up around John's shoulders and clung to him, pulling them closer so that their chests were pressed together.

John licked along Sherlock's lips, a question, an invitation, and was met with Sherlock's tongue. Somehow the desperation melted away and they caressed each others gently, their tongues sliding smoothly, a promise, a devotion.

Sherlock released John's hand so that he could slide his hands up under John's t-shirt. Firm pressure, gentle caresses, those hands held him close and John returned the gesture. His hands gliding over Sherlock's skin, past the bumps and ridges of scars long ago discussed, and the protruding ribs that would have to be dealt with later. They broke the kiss to pant into each others mouths as their hands continued their exploration. Sherlock dipping the tips of his fingers into John's waistband , awaiting consent to continue further.

John could hardly believe his every fantasy was coming true, he gasped Sherlock's name and Sherlock whispered in reply, “I want you.”

John kissed him, a brief desperate clash, a confirmation, then arched his body and gasped as those long fingers found their way into his pants and closed around him. John allowed himself to be pushed onto his back and helped Sherlock to remove his clothes. All the while Sherlock stroked or caressed him in a way that made his muscles tremble, his stomach tense, and his fingers scrabble to find purchase amongst the bedsheets. Once he was spent he collapsed back onto the bed. 

Sherlock was shedding his clothes, throwing them carelessly across the room and John wanted to help but his arms felt like rubber, his fingers too weak to do more than just tug ineffectively at them. John smiled dopily and whispered “You're so gorgeous, come here.”

Sherlock smiled at him and crawled on top, heedless of the mess on John's stomach. John hissed in oversensitivity when Sherlock began to rut against him, John's release easing the way, but he wouldn’t have Sherlock stop for the world. He found strength in his arms to hold Sherlock close, grasping his buttocks and urging him on. His lips found Sherlock's neck and he pressed kisses into his skin as Sherlock tensed and rubbed and stilled. Warmth bloomed between their bodies and Sherlock cried out.

It took a few minutes for them to come down, their breath becoming even, slower, and their muscles becoming lax. Sherlock rolled off of him and murmured, “Tired.”

John rolled to the side and hugged him, cradling that precious head in his arms and pulling it into his chest. “I'm right here. You can sleep.”

He felt a kiss against his sternum, against his heart, then Sherlock was asleep, and John was not far behind.


End file.
